


I'm Not Really a Waitress (The Swan out of Duckling Remix)

by Sineala



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Ultimate Universe, Marvel Ultimates
Genre: Established Relationship, Feminization, Gentle Dom Tony Stark, M/M, Nail Polish, Remix, Service Top, Sub Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 23:43:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17887382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve asks Tony to paint his nails for him.





	I'm Not Really a Waitress (The Swan out of Duckling Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isozyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/gifts).
  * Inspired by [(i need a) touch up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525280) by [isozyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/pseuds/isozyme). 
  * In response to a prompt by [isozyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isozyme/pseuds/isozyme) in the [2019_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/2019_Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness) collection. 



> This is actually not the first Steve/Tony story I've written that's titled after a nail polish. I don't know what this says about me.
> 
> This is a remix of isozyme's [(i need a) touch up](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525280), the second story of an amazing Ults-flavored AU series [this is love in the modern way](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1178567) in which Tony is Rescue and Rescue is a woman and Steve initially had some difficulty with that but everything is okay now. In the story this is remixing, Tony gives Steve a manicure, and I felt like maybe Steve would also enjoy some nail polish with his manicure.
> 
> Thank you to Hopelesse for an an excellent beta on short notice! I would also like to thank my very patient and beloved wife Lysimache for immediately answering the question of what color nail polish Captain America should wear even though she is not in any way in this fandom.
> 
> Content note: Steve engages in some brief negative self-talk in regards to his feminization kink.

Steve can do this. Steve can absolutely, definitely do this. He's been to war. He's killed men. This has to be easier. His stomach twists up, a knotted rope of anxiety. War was easier, actually, he thinks.

He's killed men, and he's loved them, too. Well, one man. Tony.

Tony's been so kind and so gentle about everything else, everything Steve's wanted. He knows that if he asks, Tony's not going to say no. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things, and it's all too easy to imagine Tony sneering at him, calling him names, turning away, even though he knows he wouldn't. He knows that's all him, in his head, putting someone else's face to his fears.

He stands at the doorway of the den and watches Tony work, typing away on his laptop as he sprawls on the couch, the picture of focus and indolence at the same time. The top two buttons of Tony's shirt are undone. If Steve walked over there and undid another button, Tony would let him. Tony is his. And he is Tony's, and Tony's not going to let either of them hurt him now.

It's going to be all right.

Tony looks up at him. "Don't frown, sweetheart," he says, mildly. "Is everything okay?"

Steve feels, sometimes, like his face never does what he wants it to.

"Fine," Steve says. "Fine, I just-- I mean, it's nothing--"

His face is hot already. This definitely wasn't in the plan.

Tony sets the laptop to one side, swings up to sitting, and pats the couch next to him. "Come here, darling," he says, softly, so softly, and he has to know Steve will do anything he says when he says it like that. "Tell me."

Steve sits. His thigh is pressed against Tony's. "It's not," he begins. "I mean, it's. If you weren't busy, I was wondering if. I wanted to know if."

Goddammit, he should be better than this.

Tony lays his hand on Steve's knee. Steve looks at Tony's hand. His skin is soft, clean, moisturized, his nails perfectly shaped. They're a little shiny, almost wet, as if he has something on them, and Steve breathes in hard and _wants_ , and it's twisted up in fear and hatred but if he can just-- if he can just tease the desire out, if Tony can unwind it like Theseus in the labyrinth--

"If?" Tony says, very, very gently.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, opens them again, and in one giant rush says, "If you could do my nails for me."

He pauses. He can't breathe.

He makes himself look up and over at Tony's face.

"Oh," Tony murmurs, bright-eyed. "Oh, sweetheart, I'd be delighted to. Like I did before, you mean? Filing your nails, taking care of your skin?" He's smiling, wider and wider, and Steve's stomach starts to unknot, even as he knows he has to tell Tony all of it because Tony can't guess what he wants when he's never asked for it. "I can absolutely do--"

"No," Steve blurts out, awkward, too loud, too fast. He always says these things wrong.

Tony stops.

"I mean," Steve says, "not like before. Not just like before." And he has to shut his eyes again, he can't look, he _can't_. "I want you to paint my nails. Red."

_Like a girl_ , his brain choruses, _like a dame, like a sissy, like a fairy_ and he shoves it all back and thinks _paint me just for you and tell me I'm pretty_ and he can't say that either.

Tony's thumb rubs circles on the side of Steve's knee. Tentatively, Steve cracks one eye open, then the other.

Tony is staring at him like it's Christmas morning. His mouth is open, lips parted in delight and astonishment. Steve is the best gift he was never expecting. Tony's joy warms the icy, jagged places inside him, the part of him that still can't believe he's doing this. It can't be wrong, he tells himself. It's not hurting anyone and it's not wrong.

He wonders, suddenly, if Tony even has nail polish. He's never seen Tony wear any.

"Darling," Tony breathes, low, almost reverent. "I'd be honored."

He has to ask now. "Do you-- do you have any--?"

Tony leans in like he's sharing a secret. His breath in Steve's ear prickles down his spine, lets pleasant arousal pool in Steve's belly. "Come with me," he says. "I have all the colors."

* * *

Steve wasn't really picturing this any farther than the thrill of _red_ on his nails and the way, if he was lucky, that Tony would be looking at him, the way Tony always looks at him when Tony gets to make him pretty.

But it turns out that there's a lot more to the process than that, and the entire process is what does it for Tony. So Steve sits, patient and bemused, on Tony's bed, and watches Tony sit on the floor of his room and sort through a small wooden box of nail polish. Bottles clink together.

Steve doesn't know enough about nail polish to know exactly what he wants, and he knows that the thrill for Tony is getting to have him exactly how he wants him, so he just sits back and lets Tony choose. He's sure it'll be good.

"Mmm," Tony says, enthralled, blissful. "You're going to look so good in red, sweetheart. But you knew that, didn't you?" He picks up a bottle, turns it over, frowns at it, sets it back down. "I don't think you'll like that name. Pity."

Steve doesn't approve of what they name all these beauty products. He's no prude, and _sex sells_ , Tony said, and Steve understands that -- but last week Tony was wearing a lipstick he said was called _Orgasm_ , and Steve thinks there should be some limits.

"Why?" Steve asks, and he can feel himself scowling already. "What's it called?"

Tony beams at him. " _An Affair in Red Square_."

"No."

Undeterred, Tony is still grinning, and when his gaze settles on the box again, he's smiling even wider. He scoops up another bottle, too fast for Steve to see much beyond that it's red. He has a couple of bottles of clear polish in his other hand, but he has his whole left hand wrapped around the red one, hiding it from view as he comes to join Steve on the bed.

Tony sits, sets the clear polishes on the nightstand next to him, and then opens his hand. "This is for you, sweetheart." He's smiling, soft and sweet and eager.

The polish in the bottle is _gorgeous_. Steve had pictured, in his half-formed thoughts, the colors women had worn when he was young -- bright, creamy, lurid reds. But this one is something else. He didn't know they made polishes like this. This one _shimmers_ when the light hits it. It's rich, metallic, a deep jewel-toned red. Steve's breath catches in his chest. It reminds him of watching _The Wizard of Oz_ and seeing Dorothy's ruby slippers for the first time, seeing them sparkle bright and making him want things he didn't quite know he wanted. It reminds him of-- of--

"Is it good?" Tony's voice is husky. He's watching Steve; he has to know, just looking at him. But Tony likes to hear him say it. So he can try, for Tony.

"It's amazing," he says, as honestly as he can, and Tony smiles wider to encourage him. "It's like-- it's like--" And then he knows exactly what it's like. "It's like Rescue."

Oh, God, he wants that. He wants to be done up in Tony's colors. He wants Tony to mark him. Make him beautiful, and make him _his_.

There's color on Tony's cheeks now, and the tiniest embarrassed smile. "Yeah," Tony says. "Yeah, it is."

Steve isn't brave enough yet to say everything he wants. He's getting there.

"So." Steve clears his throat. "What's this one called?"

Tony half-smiles. " _I'm Not Really a Waitress_. I figured you at least wouldn't object too much to the name."

It's not a bad name. It's not obscene, and it sort of fits with their lives, in a way. Their identities. Even the way they dress up. Not really being on the inside what everyone thinks they are on the outside.

"It's fine," Steve says, and the rest of the words are stuck again. "I-- I like it." He takes a breath. "Please."

But Tony is taking the polish away, setting it on the nightstand and picking up one of the little clear bottles. Did Steve do something wrong? He must look disappointed, because Tony smiles and pats him on the thigh.

"Don't worry," Tony tells him. "We're going to get there. But I'm going to do this the proper way." He peers at Steve's nails, evaluating them by some criterion Steve doesn't understand. "Your nails seem to be in pretty good shape today, so I think we can skip the filing and buffing, mmm?"

Steve wants to tell him to do everything -- God, he wants Tony to do everything to him -- but he's not sure he'll make it through everything, and he definitely wants to get to the end. So he just nods.

Tony holds up the little clear bottle. "This is a base coat. I'm going to apply it first to keep the polish from staining your nails."

Steve nods again, and Tony unscrews the cap, setting the bottle down on the nightstand and shifting them around until he can take Steve's hand in his own, pulling him toward him. Steve feels oddly dainty as Tony arranges his hand just so, like Tony is about to lift it to his lips and kiss it. He'd like that, too. But Tony just squints at him in concentration, turns Steve's hand until his thumb is pointed upward, and starts painting.

It feels strange. Cold and wet. Steve wasn't really expecting to feel much of anything. Tony paints rapidly, efficiently, like he's soldering a circuit board. He's taking care of Steve, the way he takes care of all of his things, and Steve glows hot and pleased.

When Tony's done there's not much difference. Steve inspects his own hands, critically. His nails look a little shinier, maybe. You'd only really notice if you were close and you thought to look for it, but it feels different enough that he knows he's wearing it. A secret.

"Some people wear clear polish like this all the time," Tony says, very carefully. "If you-- if this was something you liked, you could wear it."

The idea is too immense to contemplate. "I-- I--" Steve stutters. "Maybe? I don't know." It's too much. He can't think about it right now.

"Okay." Tony's voice is soft. "You don't have to decide right now. But if you want to keep going, I'll give this a bit longer to dry and then put on the good stuff."

Overwhelmed, Steve just nods. That's what he wants. This is what he wants.

He rests his hands delicately on his thighs so his fingers don't bump anything. He's conscious of his body, but not in a bad way -- just a different way.

They wait in silence, and after a minute or two Tony picks up Steve's hand again. Steve likes it when Tony touches him, like he's expensive, irreplaceable, priceless. This time the brush Tony is holding is coated with the actual polish, and when he swipes it over Steve's thumb it leaves a streak of red.

Steve breathes in sharply, and Tony looks up.

"If this is too much," Tony says, "I can take it off right now--"

"Keep going."

Tony's smile is dazzling. "Aye-aye."

He doesn't watch his fingers as Tony paints them. He watches Tony. Tony's hands are steady and precise, but his face is _transcendent_. Tony's staring at him like nothing in his life has ever made him this happy, like he can't believe he's getting the chance to do this, and this is what Steve is here for.

_Tell me I'm pretty_ , Steve wants to say.

"Darling," Tony murmurs, as he caps the polish. "Darling, you're so beautiful."

Tony could say that all day and Steve would still be starving for more. "Am I?"

The words slip out, greedily, but Tony doesn't seem to care. He strokes Steve's wrist. "So very beautiful. The red's perfect. You look like a treasure. Oh, this was a good color. It'll look even better after the second coat. You'll see."

"There's more?"

Tony's fingers rub over the back of his hand. "Just one more coat. And then the top coat."

"Oh."

Steve dares a glance down at his hands. He's seen his fingers covered in dirt and dust and blood, but Tony has remade him. He's bright. Colorful.

He's Rescue's. If he stepped out with Rescue, looking like this, holding her gauntleted hand, everyone would know -- and it's not like they didn't already know, but they'd see it on him, and they'd know, they'd all know--

Steve's stomach flips over, and Tony presses his palm to Steve's jaw. "Stay with me, okay, gorgeous?"

He could wear the polish under his gloves. And that's not-- that's not a bad thought. Steve's half-hard and half-scared and he knows it's too much of a thought and that's when Tony pokes him in the nose with his fingertip.

"I'm okay," Steve says, quickly. "I'm okay."

"You're perfect." Tony's kiss is the lightest brush of his lips, and Steve shivers. "You're perfect and you're a vision and you cannot imagine how beautiful you are." He rubs two fingers over the nape of Steve's neck, like he thinks Steve is a kitten he can carry by his scruff, and somehow Steve finds himself relaxing into it anyway.

Tony picks up the bottle again, then Steve's hand. The second coat is faster, but Tony is no less tender, no less caring, as he makes sure the paint is absolutely perfect. Tony likes perfection. Steve can give him this.

"You'll like the top coat," Tony says, as he picks up the other clear bottle the instant he's capped the actual polish. "It'll make it dry fast so you can touch it."

The last coat is a little messier than the rest, something more chemical, and it pinches at Steve's skin where Tony's painted over the edge of his nails.

After several seconds, Tony gently taps Steve's index finger with the pad of his thumb, and Steve winces and expects Tony's thumb to come away red, but nothing happens. Tony wasn't kidding about it being fast.

He doesn't know what they do now. He definitely hadn't thought this far ahead.

He imagines touching himself like this, touching Tony like this, red, red nails all over his body, sparkling as he wraps his fingers around his cock, around Tony's. He glances down and, yeah, Tony's hard. He's not surprised that Tony's into this. Tony meets his gaze, wide and dark, lips flushed, waiting.

But when he reaches out, Tony bats his hand away. "Not yet," Tony says, but before Steve can feel too bad, Tony adds, "You'll dent it. Just wait a couple minutes."

_I want you to take pictures_ , he can't say. _Take pictures of me and remember me like this_.

_I want to step out of your room and look like this_ , he can't say.

Not yet. But maybe, maybe soon, he'll be brave enough.

"Actually, I can't wait," Tony says, with a grin, and he reaches out and unbuttons Steve's fly, and okay, yeah, that works too.

"Tony, _please_ ," Steve gasps, and it's enough, it's enough right now, and as Tony bows his head Steve stares down at his own jewel-bright hands in Tony's hair.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/183035474864/cap-im-remix-madness-im-not-really-a-waitress).


End file.
